


My Somebody

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:29:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4264962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Castiel was human for good, he was always complaining.<br/>First it was, “How do humans have the patience for walking? It’s so slow.”<br/>And then, “When it gets hot my skin makes water, and that is alarming.”<br/>Dean knew that he shouldn’t mind – of course it must be difficult to downsize from a multidimensional wavelength to a tiny little human body – but he felt every complaint like a wasp sting, irritating and a little painful. It hadn’t been Castiel’s choice to fall permanently, but ever since he had, Dean had been hoping… well, he didn’t like to admit even to himself the exact specifics of what he’d been hoping, but generally speaking they’d involved Cas being a lot more happy about joining humanity than he currently seemed to be.<br/>____________________________________<br/>Cas isn't enjoying being human, but he and Dean find a new way to make each other happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Somebody

Now that Castiel was human for good, he was always complaining.

First it was, “How do humans have the patience for walking? It’s so slow.”

And then, “When it gets hot my skin makes water, and that is alarming.”

Dean knew that he shouldn’t mind – of course it must be difficult to downsize from a multidimensional wavelength to a tiny little human body – but he felt every complaint like a wasp sting, irritating and a little painful. It hadn’t been Castiel’s choice to fall permanently, but ever since he had, Dean had been hoping… well, he didn’t like to admit even to himself the exact specifics of what he’d been hoping, but generally speaking they’d involved Cas being a lot more happy about joining humanity than he currently seemed to be. Dean had happily envisaged meals out and daytrips to the mountains or to the beach – but if Cas’ current mood was anything to go by, he’d spend the entire time complaining about all the sand between his horrible human toes, and making disparaging remarks about picnics.

Dean sighed and blinked, bringing himself back to the moment. He’d been thinking all of this whilst lying on the sofa in the bunker, looking at a book without really reading it, with Led Zeppelin playing softly in the background. He wondered where Cas was now. Probably griping about the necessity of chewing, or how uncomfortable it was to stand up for too long.

“Dean?” Dean sat up quickly at the sound of Cas’ voice in the doorway, feeling a brief stab of guilt about thinking such uncharitable thoughts. Of course Cas was fully licensed to have a grumble, since things hadn’t been at all easy for him recently. It was only because Dean was so damn happy to have Cas around all the time that he was annoyed, anyway – it was a kind of nail in the coffin of any hope he’d had of his –  _feelings_ – being reciprocated.

“Hey, Cas,” he said, hoping that his tone was light-hearted enough to hide the things he’d been thinking about. “What’s up?”

Cas hovered in the doorway, frowning.

“Are you busy? I don’t want to interrupt your reading.”

Dean glanced at the paperback in his hand with a snort, and dropped in to the floor.

“No worries,” he said. “It’s trash. And I’d rather –” he gestured vaguely in Cas’ direction – “yeah. What’s on your mind?”

Cas padded over to the sofa, sitting down with a heavy thump a little further away than Dean would have liked. He found himself leaning forwards, and had to consciously move back before Cas noticed. God, he was ridiculous. And embarrassing. Cas, meanwhile, was leaning down to pick up the book that Dean had dropped, and flicking idly through the pages.

“It may sound foolish after all that we’ve been through,” Cas began, “but I just wanted to thank you for taking me in after… afterwards. You’ve been very kind.”

“Sure,” Dean said, watching Cas’ long fingers leafing through his book. “Well, you know. You’re family. Sam thinks of you that way, and – and you know I do. There’s nowhere I’d rather you were than here.”  _Even if you do spend half your time complaining,_ he added as a guilty mental sidenote.

Cas smiled, the book still held gently in his two human hands. He sighed, looking down at them.

“They’re so small,” he said discontentedly, setting the book back down on the floor to spread them wide. “I used to be able to change fates with my touch. Now I can’t fit a single book inside my palm.”

Dean sighed. Back to the complaining.

“They’re not so small,” he said, and before he could second-guess himself, he reached out and grabbed Cas’ wrist, pulling up his hand and laying his own flat against it, so that their palms were flush and their fingers were aligned.

“See? Your fingers are longer than mine,” Dean said. “And anyway, who wants to change fates? Your hands are a good size for other things, now. Like reading that book in the bath. Or making a really great sandwich. Or…” Dean paused for a moment to think, and Cas came in surprisingly quickly.

“Or holding someone else’s hand,” he said. Dean met his gaze and swallowed. Cas’ tone had been flat and factual, with no inflection of desire or suggestion, but…

“Yeah,” Dean said, his throat suddenly dry. “Yeah, for holding hands. Yours are good for that. Your hands, I mean. All hands are, I guess. Yours, mine… uh…”

Cas curled his fingers into the spaces between Dean’s, watching Dean with a quiet solemnity, a kind of question in his eyes. In answer, Dean swallowed thickly and followed his lead, bending his fingers over Cas’ knuckles so that they were holding hands – a little stiffly, and awkwardly out in front of them, but  _still_ – holding hands! Dean’s heart was racing in his chest, beating out a drumbeat to the tune of surprised happiness.

“I like this,” Cas said. His voice was a little low, as though he were embarrassed; Dean squeezed his fingers reassuringly, with a great wave of affection for Cas sweeping over him.

“I like it too,” he said, fighting the urge to grin or somehow play off what he’d just said. “We – uh, we could do it more, if you want. I know becoming human hasn’t been – easy, exactly.”

“It’s not so bad,” Cas said softly. “Not like this.”

He seemed to have said the words without thinking, because he sucked in a breath and looked up at Dean in surprise, as though it had been he who had spoken them. Dean himself was swallowing down his pleasure as best he could, and trying to play it cool.

“I know what you mean,” was the best he could manage.

“Touch is good,” Cas said. “When I had my grace, there was always a feeling of… connectedness. To be human is to be very isolated.”

“Not always,” Dean argued. “When you find a… someone who you… you know… well, then you don’t have to feel alone. And you can, you know, hug them, and…”

“And hold their hand?” Cas said, with a hint of a knowing smile on his lips that Dean wasn’t sure how to feel about. Instead of answering, he shrugged and lapsed into silence. Cas seemed to realise that he’d made a slight misstep, because he squeezed Dean’s hand with his long, strong fingers. “I’d like to have a someone,” he said thoughtfully.

Dean’s heartrate soared. So Cas  _was_ interested in… well, in something, and that kind of something was the kind of something that Dean was interested in. God, this was tying him in knots. He smiled tightly, nervously.

“I’d like that, too,” he said. Cas frowned slightly.

“How do you know if someone is your someone?” he asked. Their palms were still pressed together, growing warm and a little clammy, but Dean didn’t want to let go.

“Well, I guess… I guess it’s someone you’d do anything for,” Dean said. “And they’d do anything for you. And being with them makes you happy. And even when you’re angry or annoyed with them, you wouldn’t switch them for anyone else.”

Cas took this in for a moment in silence, nodding thoughtfully.

“But even if you know someone is your someone, how do you know if you’re their someone?” he asked. Dean’s head was growing a little dizzy.

“I think you just… know,” he said. “When you talk, when you look at each other, when you…” he swallowed. “When you touch.”

They’d moved closer somehow – maybe Dean had leaned forwards again, or maybe they both had, but Dean wasn’t complaining and he wasn’t moving back again this time, either. He tried to make his breathing quiet and even, though he was sure that Cas would be able to hear his heart, with the way that it was pounding right out of his chest.

“Do someones kiss?” Cas asked, his voice so low, so close, and Dean let out a soft exhale of want that was almost a groan; their interlocked hands were gripped so tight that he was starting to lose the feeling in his fingers, but he wasn’t about to move them.

“Not always,” Dean said. “But if they want to… yeah.”

“How can you tell if – if they want to?” Cas asked, the question coming so quickly, so breathlessly that Dean was sure he’d had it ready; he bit his lip and watched Cas’ eyes track the movement.

“Well, they – they might tilt their head, like this,” Dean said, and smiled as Cas mirrored his movement, tilting to the same side. “And they might look down at your lips, like this.” With permission granted, Cas’ gaze zeroed in on Dean’s lips, and  _God_ that was hot. His expression was intense, curious, wanting… Dean wondered if he looked like that, too.

“The only way to be absolutely sure, though… is to ask,” Dean said. Cas’ eyes lifted back up, deep and dark with a hint of lightness that brought a smile to Dean’s lips.

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice a little rough. “Can I kiss you?”

The simplicity of the question, the directness of it, almost took Dean’s breath away.

“Yes,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

It was all Cas needed. He pressed forwards, his lips meeting Dean’s so sweetly, so perfectly, that it was almost too good to be true – and yet there they both were, sitting on the dusty old sofa, kissing. Dean was unresponsive for a brief moment as he realised the enormity of the move, and then – then Cas opened his mouth a little, and there was no more room for thought, for coherency, for worrying; there was only taste, and touch, and smiling against each other’s mouths as the kiss went on, and on, and on.

When they finally broke apart, Dean leaned his forehead up against Cas’. He took a shaky breath in, hearing Cas do the same. Christ, this changed everything. Suddenly all the things that Dean had been wanting, had been trying not to hope for – suddenly they were all possible. All he had to do was ask. Maybe Cas would sleep in his bed. Maybe he’d cuddle with Dean until late. Maybe he’d share clothes with Dean, so that they could go around all day wearing something that smelled like the other.  _Maybe_ Cas would even stop complaining.

With his lips still wonderfully close to Dean’s, Cas sighed.

“My hand has gone to sleep,” he said. “I hate pins and needles.”

Ah. Maybe not, then. Dean grinned, and pulled Cas back in for another long, long kiss. He was going to make Cas happy to be human in ways he’d never known before – and he had a feeling Cas was going to do the same for him.

“My someone,” Cas murmured against the back of Dean’s neck that night, as they fell asleep. Dean, half-dreaming, smiled and curled back closer against Cas’ chest. My someone, he thought, as he sank into soft sleep. My someone.


End file.
